


Someone Else's Arms

by annie_reckson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Stiles, Drug Use, Insomnia, M/M, Off-screen Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annie_reckson/pseuds/annie_reckson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Eugene, Oregon was supposed to be a new start for Stiles, a place to get away from the all the difficulties of Beacon Hills and maybe extend his lifespan a little bit. His dad had encouraged him, naturally, insisting that they keep in touch as often as possible, mostly for Stiles’s benefit. Scott hadn’t been as cheerful about him leaving, but he’d understood eventually, just like the rest of the pack had. Stiles was human. For all of his desires and wishes and ingenuity, he was still very human with no desire to change that status anytime soon. Besides, Derek was always the first to remind Stiles (and everyone else) of his heightened mortality every time Stiles tried to help them out.</p><p>Derek was also the reason Stiles’s retinas were starting to burn from the brightness of “Leon’s Noodle Palace”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Someone Else's Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Someone Else's Arms" by Mae, definitely not verbatim, but a lot of key elements made their way into the story.

There’s a takeout place across the street from his apartment that’s open all night; their bright neon sign is always on and shining in his window. Right now, his eyes are trained on it, even though his mind is elsewhere. There’s a long-ignored dying joint hanging between the long fingers of his right hand and to his left, the body beside him is tossing and turning in their sleep like they can’t quite get comfortable.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Eugene, Oregon was supposed to be a new start for Stiles, a place to get away from the all the difficulties of Beacon Hills and maybe extend his lifespan a little bit. His dad had encouraged him, naturally, insisting that they keep in touch as often as possible, mostly for Stiles’s benefit. Scott hadn’t been as cheerful about him leaving, but he’d understood eventually, just like the rest of the pack had. Stiles was human. For all of his desires and wishes and ingenuity, he was still very human with no desire to change that status anytime soon. Besides, Derek was always the first to remind Stiles (and everyone else) of his heightened mortality every time Stiles tried to help them out.

Derek was also the reason Stiles’s retinas were starting to burn from the brightness of “Leon’s Noodle Palace”. Ever since he’d moved his belongings into the tiny apartment in downtown Eugene, Stiles hadn’t been able to sleep more than a few hours each night. He’d tried everything, sleeping pills, melatonin, meditation, nature documentaries, even massive amounts of caffeine, hoping it would somehow counteract itself and the crash would send him into the deep slumber he desperately needed.

Still, nothing worked and he’d settled on a routine of bringing strangers back to his place for a few hours; because if he was going to be stuck awake, he should at least be enjoying himself. They never stayed long though, which was alright with him. Usually he’d be able to finally pass out for a few hours around three or so and, for reasons very clear to him despite his desire to ignore them, he didn’t really have any desire to wake up with another person in the bed with him.

Lying next to him was the keyboardist for some random local shoegaze-y band his co-workers went to see and insisted on dragging him along. For what it was worth, his co-workers were decent enough. The small magazine they all worked for wasn’t going to reach the publication level of The Economist anytime soon, but everyone there was passionate about what they did, be it social issues or the environment or space exploration. Stiles had just been pleased to put his honed research skills to use for something other than looking up all the different varieties of wolfsbane.

The keyboardist stirred a bit, again, this time enough to shift Stiles’s attention. She had been an excellent distraction for him - he’d never had a woman so enthusiastically rim him before -  proof that he’d come a long way from the young man that had settled there just eight months prior. It was a shameful source of pride for him now that he was able to kiss someone without missing the feel of a certain stubble against his face, he could let someone playfully bite him without worrying about the nick of fanged teeth, he could take his time fucking someone without trying to trace the absence of tattooed swirls on their back.

Sure, there were times when he would be alone and pulling on his own cock when the ghost of thick, stubbly fingers would float across his chest and down his thighs, but he couldn’t expect himself to be over Derek completely, not this soon. Not after the admittedly brief intimacy they shared or the sex that had Stiles aching and boneless and desperate for more. There might even be a part of him that wanted the memory of those hands to linger forever.

He’d been twenty-one when it happened. Freshly twenty-one, just getting used to the ability to purchase his own alcohol. One night, when typical twenty-one year olds were probably dancing at clubs or similarly fun activities, Stiles had been driving a bleeding Derek as fast as he could to Deaton. Instead of a night of frivolity, they’d been dealing with an attack by an omega that should have been dealt with easily if Derek hadn’t been so focused on keeping Stiles safe. As it was, Derek has taken a huge hit in his right side, deep enough that parts of his flesh were missing. Stiles desperately tried to ignore it and focus on driving, there wasn’t time for him to get queasy.

Deaton had been able to clean the wound and bandage it, sending them away with something to numb the pain and a mild sedative to help with the healing process. With a little help from Deaton, Stiles had been able to get Derek back to the Jeep so he could drive him back to the loft. Thankfully, Derek was stable enough that Stiles only needed to provide the smallest amount of support getting him up the stairs and onto his couch.

That was the first night Derek was the cause for Stiles being unable to sleep. He’d paced around the loft absently while Derek slept, occasionally flipping through the thick tomes on his bookshelves and repeatedly raiding his fridge and pantry (although neither held much in the way of the junk food that Stiles craved when he was anxious). Texts were sent to every member of the pack, letting them know that Derek was injured, but safe, and that Stiles was staying with him for the time being.

When Derek finally started to rouse, Stiles rushed over and kneeled over him, “ _You idiot!_ ” He’d berated, “ _So worried about my safety that you’re going to get yourself killed one of these days-”_

He’d intended on continuing, but Derek had linked their fingers together on his good side and tugged Stiles closer until he could feel the breath coming from Derek’s parted lips, “ _Thank you,”_ he’d said, before leaning up to press their lips together.

Initially, Stiles had been too surprised to react, but that quickly changed when Derek’s other hand came up to thread through the soft strands of hair gathered at his neck. He braced his free hand on the arm of the couch as he leaned into the kiss, opening his lips slightly to taste and moaning when Derek’s tongue licked against his own.

Before it could go further, Stiles pulled back, “ _I’ve wanted to do that since I was 17,_ ” He’d murmured, “ _So I need to know, was that because of the medicine Deaton gave you or do you really....”_

 

 _“Stiles,_ ” Derek had reached up to rub his thumb along Stiles’s cheekbones, “ _I’ve wanted to do that since you were 17, too._ ”

From there, everything seemed to only get better. Once Derek was fully healed, Stiles had clambored on top of him and kissed him mercilessly, letting his tongue do most of the work while his hands roamed freely over the muscles and skin he’d wanted to touch for so long. Hands trembling with want unbuttoned Derek’s tight jeans for the first time, pressed against his length for the first time, impatiently tugged his briefs down for the first time, and messily jerked him off for what would be the first of many times.

Sometimes, when Stiles lies awake at night, he vividly recounts the first time he’d prepped Derek. How aroused he got just from the sight of his long fingers pushing in and disappearing into Derek’s hole. He is able to recall with complete clarity exactly how it felt the first time he’d bottomed out inside Derek, the feel of heat around his cock as Derek relaxed around him and how his arms had shaken as he held himself above Derek’s panting and flushed body.

The fourth time, Derek had come untouched and the thought of just knowing that he’d been able to do that caused Stiles to come harder than he had in his entire life and pass out for three straight minutes.

And there was so much more to being with Derek than sex. It seemed like every day Stiles found a new thing to love about Derek, whether it was the small smile that creeped onto his face when he was drinking his first cup of coffee, or the way he snuffled into a pillow when he didn’t want to wake up, or even the way he always made the water too hot when they showered together. Ever since Scott had been bitten, Stiles had been wary about the future, but once he and Derek finally clicked, all he could see was the future of them. He daydreamed about them grocery shopping together, doing laundry together, and picking out future apartments together. For the first time probably since his mother passed, Stiles was addicted to the idea of gross domesticity.

Of course though, it all had to come crashing down a year and a half later. A band of hunters rolled through the forest - the kind that might have embraced the ideals set by the wrong Argent - and were spotted at one of the abandoned cabins in the Preserve. The pack wanted to believe that they were just passing through, but decided to confront them head-on just to be on the safe side. So a small contingent, Derek, Allison of course, Scott, Lydia, and Stiles went to talk to them.

Everything had been going smoothly until one of the more inexperienced hunters accidentally set off his crossbow, sending an arrow right into Stiles’s shoulder. He shouted and  fell to his knees instantly, vaguely aware of Derek growling loudly before being held back by Scott. The next thing he remembered was being carried through the forest, branches intermittently smacking his back and legs. His last thought before he passed out was hope that there wasn’t any wolfsbane on the arrow. While it was definitely deadly for werewolves, he was very aware that it was still incredibly toxic to humans.

Then it was Derek’s turn to stay up all night worrying about him. Which sucked mostly because his injury couldn’t have come at a worse time. He’d recently gotten his bachelor’s degree - a pretty awesome feat considering how often his life had been threatened during the four years he’d been in college - and had started looking at job opportunities near Beacon Hills. Just a day before his fateful arrow incident, he’d received an email from the editor of a small magazine in Eugene, Oregon who’d thoroughly enjoyed the offbeat writing samples Stiles had sent him. Stiles was just getting ready to float the idea to Derek - Why not move away together? Start all over in a new city? Beacon Hills is just fine! It’ll survive without us! - when the news of the hunters arriving reached them.

By the time Stiles woke up in the hospital with a bandaged shoulder and a boyfriend who looked like he’d been subsisting solely on bad hospital coffee, the words tasted sour on his mouth. When Derek’s red-rimmed eyes looked at him, he knew that he’d missed his opportunity.

Later that day, Derek had broken it off, telling Stiles that he deserved better than this, that he needed more than this, that Derek couldn’t keep him safe and couldn’t handle the idea of him getting hurt.

_Derek, this is stupid, I love you!_

_You don’t know what love is, Stiles! You’re only twenty-two, you’re still too young._

His harsh tone still rang in Stiles’s ears when he remembered them, eight months later. And he only remembered them at times like this when the postcoital endorphins wore off enough that he wasn’t able to escape the thoughts in his head.

So Stiles had moved to Eugene by himself. Setting up a lonely studio apartment and immediately diving into his work. With his emotions effectively stunted and calloused, he found himself able to hook up with strangers easily, meaningless kisses with all of the want but none of the longing. The first time, he’d barely stopped himself from crying out Derek’s name as he came, but it got easier with time.

Scott was gentle enough not to mention Derek whenever he spoke with Stiles on the phone. That in and of itself was perfect affirmation that Stiles at least had good taste in picking best friends. Erica, though, wasn’t nearly as tactful and made sure to keep Stiles informed of the sullen nature Derek was exhibiting. Which, to Stiles, just sounded like he’d regressed back to his pre-relationship normal behavior. And if that was what he wanted, Stiles was going to let him be.

At least, he thought he could.

To be honest, Stiles was getting tired of restless nights. He was tired of watching strangers leave because he knew they knew he didn’t want them to stay the night. He was tired of staring at “Leon’s Noodle Palace” and thinking about the time Derek tried to make spaghetti for them and managed to fill the whole apartment with smoke because they’d been too busy making out against the kitchen counter to notice the burning tomato sauce.

By now, the keyboardist had fully woken up and rolled over to squint her eyes at Stiles and give him a tired smile. After a moment for her to stretch, she got up and started looking for her clothes. Her loose tank top was still on, albeit a bit twisted, but her bra, jeans, and cardigan were scattered all over. Stiles was absentmindedly aware of her moving around his apartment, but did nothing to help. Once she was finally dressed again, tugging on the booties that had been kicked off just a few hours prior, she gave him a small wave and left.

Stiles had to admit that it hurt a little bit that she didn’t try to leave her number or anything. Not that he would have wanted to go on a date or anything with her, it would have just been nice to feel like it wasn’t all transient for once. He laid still for a few more moments letting random memories of Derek wash over him; him jogging with Stiles through the Preserve and trying not to laugh when he realizes how out of shape Stiles really is, the two of them coming across a starving stray cat and taking care of it for nearly a month before finally finding the owner, the way Derek would look at him when he thought Stiles was asleep - like he was the most important thing in the entire world.

That’s when he finally got out of bed. Finally determined to do something, he haphazardly threw on clean clothes and pulled his sneakers on. Racing down the stairs of his apartment building, he thought about texting Scott, but decided against it since his bud was definitely asleep at this hour. Then, as he was climbing into the Jeep, he debated whether or not he should call Derek, but he knew that he needed to speak to Derek in person.

Because he needed to tell him. Right then, he needed to drive back to Beacon Hills and bang on the door to Derek’s loft and hope that Derek hasn’t moved on and explain it to him. Explain to Derek that Stiles is tired of existing in a bed with the wrong people when he wants to wake up in someone else’s arms.

Then maybe he’d have a reason to sleep.

 


	2. But It's Hidden Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away_  
>  Safe and sound

Rain never used to bother Derek. Sure, he’d never been particularly fond of it. It’s not something he would ever write poetry about, even if he understood its usefulness. But it used to be something innocuous, something he could easily ignore as long as he stayed inside.

But that was before Stiles. Before Derek found out that rain made Stiles especially horny; they’d always be halfway through whatever Netflix pick Stiles deemed an appropriate “rainy-day movie” when Stiles would get a twinkle in his eye and climb into Derek’s lap, muttering something along the lines of, _We’re stuck inside, might as well the most of it, am I right_?

Derek always rolled his eyes and went along with it, secretly enjoying the pattering of the rain on his loft windows while they messed up the clean sheets on his bed. Thunderstorms were especially chaotic, something about the loud cacophony that brought out the rougher parts of Stiles. Once - during a particularly tumultuous storm -  he’d left a bruise on Derek’s hip, right above the bone, that lasted almost six minutes. Derek loved it.

His favorite part, he found, was always afterwards. Once the endorphins started wearing off, the breathing became more relaxed, and Stiles’s eyes started drooping until he finally allowed himself to succumb to sleep. Derek would shift around until he could rest his head on Stiles’s chest and listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat mixed with the staccato of the rain still falling outside. The combination allowed Derek to temporarily forget about the ticking that threatened him in the back of his mind whenever he thought of what he had with Stiles.

The ticking that reminded him that, no matter how peaceful or perfect this arrangement seemed, it was still a time bomb, just waiting for the right moment. When he was surrounded by the scent of Stiles and the thumping of his pulse, Derek could allow himself to forget, just for a little bit.

Which, of course, ended up being the problem. Because Derek let his feelings for Stiles overwhelm everything else, especially his own common sense. Stiles’s long strong fingers, stubborn demeanor, and determined amber eyes made him forget the most important detail about Stiles Stilinski: he was human. Breakable. Fragile. His flesh didn’t heal like Derek’s did. His body couldn’t handle the injuries that Derek’s could, a fact that was constantly at war with Stiles’s incessant need to involve himself.

If Derek had been thinking clearly, he would have never allowed Stiles to come with them to meet with the hunters. Allison was also human, sure, but she was an Argent, someone the hunters would be more likely to listen to. To be fair, Lydia shouldn’t have been there either, but she was even more stubborn than Stiles was when it came to something she wanted to do. And Derek didn’t feel the same impulse to protect and cocoon Lydia - or any of the pack really - as much as he wanted to protect Stiles. Of course he wanted to keep all of them safe and alive, but with Stiles the urge was so much stronger.

Something that Melissa McCall seemed to understand, since she allowed Derek to stay in Stiles’s room the entire night even though he wasn’t “family” and visiting hours had long since passed. She just kept bringing him coffee - apologizing for how bad it was - and reminding him that he’d gotten Stiles there in time. The small amount of wolfsbane that had gotten into his bloodstream had been treated immediately, now they just had to make sure he didn’t get any sort of infection from the wound on his shoulder.

The wound that would ultimately take days and months to fully heal, not minutes. The wound that wouldn’t even be there if Derek had acted rationally and not allowed Stiles to come with them. If his stupid brain didn’t want Stiles around constantly like some loud-mouthed security blanket.

Before the sedatives wore off and Stiles finally woke up, Derek had already made his decision. It was completely unfair of him to let Stiles continually put himself in danger like this. Stiles was still young, with so much potential and so much ahead of him. He needed to be safe, he needed to be alive, he needed...to be as far away from a life like this as possible. Stiles wasn’t the one who was bitten by Derek’s sociopathic uncle, he actually had a choice over whether or not he needed to be involved in all of this.

And if he wasn’t going to make the right choice, Derek would make it for him.

There was shouting, obviously. And pushing, on Stiles’s end, also expected. Derek had to clench his jaw when he saw the first signs of tears trailing their way down Stiles’s cheeks. Of course he’d assumed that would happen as well, but he still wasn’t prepared for how broken Stiles looked when Derek was trying to explain to him why they couldn’t work.

When Stiles moved away a month later, Derek buried the thought deep in his heart that he was supposed to move with him. Stiles had a new chance, a real chance, of building something safe on his own. There was nothing in the world that could stop Derek from wanting Stiles to be happy, especially if that happiness meant that Stiles would be alive and whole.

Scott never told him how Stiles was doing and Derek bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood every time he almost asked. One night the loft windows were open as the misting drizzle cascaded outside and Derek found one of Stiles’s plaid shirts under his bed while cleaning. He decided to Google the magazine Stiles was writing for and read a few of his articles. They were funny, mildly sarcastic, rambling, well-researched, and beautiful. Derek never looked them up again.

After a few months, he tried dating again. This time, it was another werewolf, one from a neighboring town who was eager to form an alliance with the McCall-Hale pack. He was cute, with a cheeky smile and a love for baking. But there was a problem with dating other werewolves that Derek had forgotten: they have the same heightened senses as he did. So Mark had figured out pretty early on that Derek’s mind was somewhere else. It had been amiable, thankfully, and their packs still maintained an alliance.

Also, Mark remained consistent in bringing over cookies, cinnamon rolls, and brownies over when Derek’s mood was at its lowest. He had a suspicion that Erica was keeping tabs on him and informing the rest of the pack, but he didn’t mind so much if it meant that Mark was willing to indulge his sweet tooth and just let him relax for a few hours. Derek knew he wasn’t expecting more, Derek knew he couldn’t give him more, and he warmed to the idea that someone could be nice to him without ulterior motives.

As for the Pack itself, it was stronger than ever, although most of that was due to Derek and Scott actually working together. In the back of his head, Derek knew that Scott blamed him for Stiles leaving, but the only confirmation he ever received was the pinched look Scott would get on his face whenever Kira or Liam would confess to their struggles while researching. Sometimes Lydia would get called in last-minute to translate or connect loose threads for them, but more often than not, Derek was stuck at the loft trying to foster the inexperienced researchers in the right direction. He could say that it was during these moments that he missed Stiles the most, but that would imply that there was a time in his day when the loss wasn’t aching at him.

It was better, somehow, when Kira and Liam would leave for the evening, once it was late enough for them to use their need to attend school the next day as an excuse for them to get home. It's an excuse Derek would have never let Scott or Stiles use, but now he encouraged it. This way, none of the pack knew that he'd spend most nights like this, unable to sleep, sipping on long-cold coffee, and half-heartedly staring at the blinking lights of the town spread out beneath him.

He leaned his head against the cold window as the rain is comes down in sheets, covering Beacon Hills in a thick fog. Not that he needed the visibility, he heard the Jeep, of course, before he saw it. The rear wheel on the passenger side was more worn than the others and Derek picked up the squeal of the tires on the wet pavement just before the car came into view around the corner. He steadied himself, wanting to believe that it was a different powder-blue Jeep recklessly speeding towards his loft, but he could already faintly hear the ticking start up again.

Instead of focusing on it, he mindlessly started another pot of coffee. As if Stiles was just stopping by at 5 in the morning to brush up on the Nagas entry in the bestiary or something equally absurd. It’s not like he hadn’t expected something like this, Stiles’s stubbornness was one of the traits that had attracted Derek in the first place. In fact, he’d expected Stiles back much sooner, he’d always known it would take more persuasion than one heated argument to keep Stiles away.

And 5 AM in a downpour? Well, Stiles always had a flair for the dramatic.

Derek rested against his wooden table and waited for the sound of Stiles’s heartbeat. The thumping of it soon mingled with the relentless pounding of the rain, pulsing ever faster and louder as he climbed the steps to Derek’s loft. Closing his eyes, Derek focused on the steady growing cadence until he heard the unmistakably loud clanging of the loft door opening. With a steady exhale, he opened his eyes to see Stiles, soaking wet, breathing heavily, and leaning against the heavy, metal door.

“Derek.” He choked out, shivering in his wet clothes.

His resolve was only so strong, “Stiles,” Derek walked slowly towards him, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Stiles shivered out, “But I can’t not be here.”

The first thing Derek noticed, as he got closer, was how red-rimmed Stiles’s eyes were, and how dark the circles were beneath them. The sight of it made him want to reach out, but the scent stopped him. Because Stiles didn’t smell like Stiles. The essence of him was still there - _pepper, bergamot, musk_ \- but there were foreign scents all over him, the rain making all of them louder. For this reason, Derek hesitated. And Stiles noticed.

“Fuck,” Stiles ran a hand down his face, “I-I didn’t think, Derek. I just needed to see you. I should have-”

“Yeah, you should have,” Derek could practically see the marks of other people’s hands all over him, “We should...we should get you into some dry clothes before you freeze.”

Derek reached for him, but refused to make contact as he guided him away from the door and into the tiny bathroom of the loft. While Stiles stood near the sink and shivered, Derek turned the water to the shower as hot as it would go before leaving to gather warm clothes. And maybe if he deliberately picked out his oldest pair of sweatpants and most-worn henley, that was just coincidence.

Nearly all of his control is centered on just leaving the clothes on the bathroom counter without glancing behind the shower curtain. He didn’t need a reminder of what trails of water running down Stiles's chest and thighs looked like. Not now, when he needed to focus on letting Stiles get some sleep and then sending him back to - where was it - Eugene without incident.

Two mugs sat on the coffee table when Stiles finally emerged from the bathroom wearing Derek’s clothes and rubbing a towel through his hair. Derek tried not to notice that Stiles looked to fill them out better now than he had two years ago. Stiles smirked at him nervously and settled on the couch, cradling one of the mugs in his hands.

“Thank you,” He muttered out, tugging at the henley draped along his shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” Derek settled in the chair and drank from his own mug, “You should get some rest soon, you can drive back when you wake up.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I didn’t drive all the way here, Derek, for you to give me a cup of coffee and send me back.”

“Stiles, I know why you’re here. And you’re wrong. You think you want this, want us, but you’re just confu-”

“ _Shut up Derek_. You-” Stiles face scrunched, “You don’t get to tell me what I want or don’t want. Because I’m telling you right now that I want you. I want _this_. However messed up it is.”

“ _Stiles_ -”

“And I know you want me too. I’ve seen it, okay? I’ve seen you. Please don’t-please don’t act like you don’t.”

Derek’s mouth hung open, his eyebrows furrowed, “Stiles, we can’t, okay? You know we can’t.”

“No,” Stiles’s voice was strained, “No I don’t know that. I know you’re afraid. I know you’re stupid. I know you think you know what’s best for me. And you’re so, extremely, wrong.”

“What if I’m not?” Derek looked away, let the rest of his words stay unspoken, What if I lost you because of my carelessness?

“Look, Derek. Just say that you don’t want me. Say that I’m wrong and you want nothing else to do with me. And I’ll leave. I’ll go back and I won’t ever try again. But I lo- I don’t know if I can be without you. Derek.”

And there it was, the tug in Derek’s chest. The pain that pulled him interminably in Stiles’s direction. Consequently, it was also the burning that started the ticking back in Derek’s mind. A reminder that the stunning, pale creature opposite him, the one that he wanted so badly to surrender to, would shatter if he let his guard down.

Derek stood up, ignoring the hopeful look on Stiles’s face, “Get some sleep, Stiles,” Without another word, he walked past the couch and headed up the staircase.

He knew it wasn’t the best way to handle the situation, but he couldn’t stay down there and look at Stiles’s face and listen to his voice and not want to agree with everything he said. Derek had already made his decision, and it was working so far. As far as he knew, Stiles’s life hadn’t even been in the slightest bit of danger since he’d left Beacon Hills. Derek wanted it to stay that way.

Of course, he could have explained all of that, but Derek had never been a man of words. Anger, he understood. Anger, he was familiar with enough to control. If Derek could keep Stiles angry at him, he could keep him safe.

“ _Hey asshole_ ,” The shattering of porcelain rang out from the bottom of the stairs, “You forgot your fucking coffee.”

Derek ignored the outburst, waiting instead to see if Stiles would stay or leave. Thankfully, the weather outside was bad enough that Stiles apparently decided that crashing on Derek’s couch would still be a good idea, no matter how much he hated Derek at the moment. From his bed, Derek could hear rustling from Stiles getting comfortable, then finally just the steady sound of him breathing and the continued tapping of raindrops against the window behind him.

Rain he was suddenly very thankful for.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles is still asleep when Derek finally leaves his bedroom. Obviously a good thing, considering how worn-out and wrecked he’d looked the night before. Not “wrecked” in the way Derek used to enjoy, either - _slick lips surrounding an open, panting mouth, eyes glazed and hooded, his skin flushed all down his che_ \- Derek stops himself before his mind lets his memories get out of hand.

Because Stiles is still _here_ and that’s a problem. Derek descends the staircase and heads towards the kitchen, his inner conflict ripping into him. If he thought he missed having Stiles before, the feelings only intensify with the little shit snoring in some ridiculous position on Derek’s couch with his mouth hanging wide open. Not to mention the way the morning sunlight illuminates his form like a fucking Renaissance painting. It really isn’t fair.

He’s just about to break when Stiles nudges a bit in his sleep, shifting the fabric of Derek’s henley just enough that the edges of the scar on his shoulder barely shows. Still, it’s enough to shake Derek, enough to make him relive the horror and fear and doubt that had consumed him in that hospital room. More than enough to make him never want to feel like that again.

Shaking his head, he finishes his trek to the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee. The least he can do is try to talk to Stiles again, rationally, and then try and hustle him back to where he belongs before something awful happens, like the Sheriff finding out he’s here and getting him to stay for the weekend. Or worse, Scott finding out he’s here and trying to get him to stay indefinitely.

For those two reasons, Derek panics a bit when he hears a knock on the metal door, but calms down immediately when he recognizes the scent of the person on the other side. He walks as softly as possible, opening the door slowly so as to not awake the still-sleeping, prone figure on the couch (although, from experience, Derek is pretty certain that Stiles could sleep through an earthquake). Derek smiles at the other werewolf in greeting, especially when he notices what looks like coffee cake in his hands. Mark’s dreads are knotted up in a loose bun and he’s wearing a loose V-neck and cut-off shorts. He looks relaxed and open in every way that Derek isn’t.

Mark steps past him into the loft with a confused look on his face and starts glancing at all corners of the loft. It puzzles Derek for a moment, but the reasoning becomes obvious to him when he realizes Mark would have heard the second heartbeat while he was waiting for Derek to answer the door. Not to mention the unfamiliar scent - something vaguely McCall-Hale, because Stiles will always smell like Pack, just not as strong these days.

It isn’t until Mark finally sees Stiles sleeping and gives Derek a huge grin that Derek realizes Mark has never met Stiles. Heard about him, definitely, from all members of the Pack, but never set eyes on him. It’s not like Derek has tons of photos displayed in the loft or anything like that, and he’s super-protective of his phone, mostly so everyone else won’t see the pathetic amount of pictures of Stiles he still has saved on there.

Mark, though, is grinning like he’s _proud_ of Derek, “Well, well, well, who is that?” He whispers, knowing Derek can still hear him.

Derek gestures towards the kitchen and waits for the other wolf to follow. As quietly as possible, he grabs three mugs from the cabinet and fills two of them, offering one to Mark and gestures for him to sit down on one of the kitchen stools. Mark takes a sip of the coffee and nods expectantly towards Derek to get him to start talking.

“That’s...Stiles. On the couch.” Derek lets out, with a huff.

“Oh my God, Derek, really?” Mark’s eyes get huge and he turns his head quickly to glance back at the still-snoring human on the couch before turning back to Derek, “I knew he smelled like Pack,” He states, scrunching his nose a bit.

“Yeah...” Derek trails off, trying to focus more on his coffee than where this conversation could head.

Mark raises an eyebrow, “So, Derek, why is he here?”

“Well, he’s uh...he’s Pack, like you said, so-”

“You know that’s not what I meant. This is _Stiles_. Do you know how much I’ve heard about Stiles? Although,” He gives Derek a grin, “I can see why you’re so attached to him.”

Derek scrunches his eyebrows, “I’m not attache-”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot. We’ve had this conversation, remember? Can we not have a recreation of how difficult it was to extract actual answers?”

He huffs again, “Fine.”

Mark gives him that expectant look again, honey-brown eyes wide and encouraging him to start talking at any moment. For a second, Derek gets lost in them, reminded of why he’d been attracted to Mark in the first place. Eyes almost the exact shade of amber of who he knew he really wanted, but attached to someone he wouldn’t have to worry about as much. At the time, he’d thought it’d been a good thing. In the end, all it had done was make him even more hyper-aware of how much he really missed Stiles.

Derek shakes his head as he starts, “He just came by last night, well, actually, this morning, with some half-hatched idea of...us getting back together.”

“And you said....?”

“I told him no, of course.”

Mark chuckles dryly and runs a hand down his face, “You told him no.”

“Of course!” Derek repeats, “It’s just- it’s better this way.”

“Fabulous. A werewolf martyr. Look Derek, whatever happened between us, we’re friends now,” He leans in and places a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “And I feel like it’s my duty to tell you when you’re being an idiot.”

Derek takes a sip of his coffee and is about to defend himself when he hears the blanket rustling on the couch. After a beat where both wolves instinctively turn their heads towards the source of the noise, Stiles comes into view, ruffling a hand through his hair and yawning. He’s facing them when he finally closes his mouth, eyes blinking sleepily before he’s able to focus on the two of them. When he does though, his expression immediately turns stony.

“Oh hey uh...I was just coming to say goodbye. I’ll uh-”

“Stiles?”

“It’s cool Derek, I’ll just return these,” He tugs on Derek’s clothes, “You know, whenever. Probably through like, the mail.”

“Stiles, wait.”

“It’s cool, dude. No worries! I’m out,” He points towards the door, “And I’ll just...talk to you later. Or something.”

Without another word, Stiles is out the door like the loft is on fire. Derek makes an aborted attempt to chase after him, but ends up punching the hard metal of the loft door in frustration instead. When he turns back to Mark, he’s cocking an eyebrow defiantly as he sips from his coffee mug.

Derek scrunches his eyes shut, “Please don’t.”

“This is an interesting little mess,” He finally cuts up the coffee cake and offers Derek a piece, “Obviously you really would like to be involved with that adorable little mess that just huffed out of here. And he clearly wants that, too. People don’t just make early-morning love declarations for someone they want to see casually. So what’s holding you back?”

“He’s human.” Derek states definitively.

“Well thank you Derek, I did happen to notice that. What else?”

“What else is there?” Derek shakes his head, “What if I can’t keep him safe? He almost died once because I wasn’t careful enough.”

Mark sighs and runs a hand down his face, “And he could get into a car accident tomorrow. Or any number of things,” He sighs, “You’re not keeping him safe by acting like a martyr. It’s clearly just making you both miserable.”

Derek refuses to meet his gaze, “Stiles is important. More important than whatever it was we had. One day he’s going to meet someone that can truly give him everything he really deserves,” He pauses his voice breaks, “And all I can do is try my hardest to make sure he’s alive and whole and as unharmed as possible when that finally happens.”

Mark places a reassuring hand on Derek’s shoulder again, mumbles something that sounds like, “Right,” and pretends that Derek won’t hear the sarcasm running through it.

 

***

 

Stiles is busy rolling a joint when he hears the click of Scott’s apartment door opening. He’d ended up here because he wasn’t ready to face his dad yet, not with the sort of anger that was still running through him and intermittently causing his muscles to twitch. Instead, he’d headed straight to the small apartment Scott moved into the month after he received his certification as a vet tech. It was fairly close to Derek’s loft, but hopefully far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to sniff out that Stiles was there.

“Oh my god, dude!” Scott, of course, has a huge smile on his face when he sees Stiles sitting on his couch, “I thought it was your scent in the hallway but I couldn’t believe it! _Dude_!”

“Yeah man, I got tired of just seeing your little puppy face on a computer screen,” Stiles grins as he stands up to accept the enthusiastic hug from his best friend.

Scott cocks his head to the side when they break the embrace, “How’d you get in?”

“Dude,” Stiles makes a face, “You gave me a key like, the day after you moved in! I’m pretty sure I even got one before Kira did.”

“Oh shit, you’re right! Just please, please, do not ever tell Kira that!”

“Do I look stupid?”

“Well...”

“Oh man, do not answer that, bro.”

“Speaking of,” Scott’s eyebrows fall, “Why do you smell like- why are you wearing Derek’s clothes?”

Stiles sighs, “What if we don’t talk about that,” He holds up the joint in his hand, “And partake instead? You can even take the green hit.”

Scott rolls his eyes and slumps down on the couch next to Stiles, holding his hand out for the lighter and joint. The paper crackles as Scott lights it and Stiles watches his eyes slowly shut as he inhales. For a moment, Stiles entertains the idea that the awkwardness can be avoided. That is, until Scott smiles and passes to the left.

“So,” He starts, “Were you at Derek’s last night or something?” Scott gives him a knowing look.

“Look just...can we not? I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Stiles! I’m supposed to be your number one bro! Dude, I called you first thing when Kira and I got back together.”

“We didn’t exactly....” Stiles turns away and shrugs as he takes another hit.

“Oh.” Scott’s face falls.

“Hey man, it’s fine, I’m fine, it’ll be fine, you know.” Stiles passes the lit joint back to him

“Nah, I mean, I guess I just kinda thought that if you guys finally got your shit together than maybe...” Scott coughs and shakes his head.

“Maybe what, dude?”

“Maybe you’d come back!” Scott’s eyes are wide and pleading.

“Dude, it’s not like I disappeared, we still talk all the time.”

“Yeah but, you’re never here because of the whole thing and you _barely_ smell like Pack anymore. And the Pack misses you and your dad misses you and, Stiles, I _miss_ you. I miss having you around.”

Stiles can feel his eyes starting to get watery, “Thanks dude, I guess I never realized-”

“Well yeah, duh,” Scott playfully shoves him, “And it’s not just, y’know, because I like having you around. The Pack _needs_ you, dude. Liam and Kira are trying, man, and Lydia tries to help but she’s, like, busy trying to do her own thing too, y’know? It would just be nice to have you really back with the Pack.”

Stiles pauses a moment, eyebrows furrowed in thought, “I...I can’t move back, dude. I’ve got a job and an apartment and-”

He glances down, because there’s not much else. Sure, there’s some budding friendships and he’s just gotten to where he can navigate his neighborhood pretty easily, but there’s not the connection that he feels in Beacon Hills.

“Look, I’m not asking you to move back, okay? If you could just...visit more often. And talk to the others more often, like, besides me and Erica. I know for a fact that Allison, in particular, misses you like crazy.”

“Okay. Yeah,” Stiles looks up to meet Scott’s eyes, “I could do that.”

“Cool,” Scott gives him a huge grin and pulls him into another embrace, “I know it won’t be easy at first, but this is your Pack too, y’know?”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, dude. I feel like shit, now.”

“No worries, just don’t let it happen again.”

“Deal,” He gives Scott a serious look, “Now quit babysitting that and pass it back!”

“Shit! Sorry bro, things just got a little heavy and I forgot,” Scott chuckles as he hands the joint to Stiles, “Now that we’ve got all of that out of the way, why don’t you tell me about Eugene?”

Stiles laughs and shakes his head, “First of all, my apartment is like, amazing...”


	4. Chapter 4

Unsurprisingly, it’s pretty easy to fall back in with everyone else. After he leaves Scott’s place, he heads straight to his old house to see his dad, who gives him a bear hug that nearly crushes his spine. Scott was probably right, Skype calls aren’t always enough. He ends up spending the rest of Saturday with his dad, catching up with him, cooking him a reasonable dinner that only involves _mild_ complaining, and then having a beer with him on their front porch, because Stiles is an adult now and that’s something they can finally do responsibly.

His dad is probably his safest choice to be around, because he’s too busy asking Stiles about his new job and apartment to bother him about Derek. It’s not like his dad wasn’t aware of their relationship, he was the Sheriff after all, it hadn’t taken him that long to figure it all out. However, by the time they’re halfway through their third beer and have just about exhausted every other topic, the Sheriff finally broaches the subject.

“So Stiles,” The Sheriff swirls the amber liquid around before taking a quick sip, “What compelled you to make this visit anyway? It’s been eight months without so much as a mention of a visit.”

“Well I-”

“In fact, every time I’ve tried to talk you into one, you’ve had an excuse, so what changed?” And there it is, his dad’s trademark ‘No Bullshit’ look.

“I-” Stiles pauses, not wanting his dad to truly know how ridiculous this is, “I just didn’t realize how much I needed to be back here.”

Which isn’t a _total_ lie.

His dad sighs, “Don’t think you’re going to get away with that being the whole story, but” He leans over to clink their bottles together, “I’m still glad to see you in person for once.”

“Yeah dad,” Stiles gives him a small smile, “It feels good to be back.”

The next morning, he goes on a run in the Preserve with Allison, Isaac, and Malia. Something that seemed like a good idea at the time, and is initially pretty fun because all three of them know their way through the Preserve easily without getting lost so all Stiles has to do is follow them, but after three or four miles he knows they’re starting to get sick of him needing to stop and catch his breath.

“Sorry guys,” Stiles offers, breathless, as he leans against a tree, “City life just doesn’t offer too many opportunities for long runs in the forest.”

Isaac and Malia roll their eyes, but it’s Allison who speaks up, “Don’t worry about it, we’re almost to the lake anyways.”

He wipes sweat off his forehead, “The lake?”

Isaac stretches his arms overhead, “Yeah, we usually go for a swim on Sundays before heading back. Usually we’re sweatier though, because we just run straight through instead of stopping every ten minutes-”

“Isaac,” Allison gives him a glare before turning to Stiles, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“C’mon Stiles, we used to go running all the time in high school.”

“That was _five years ago_ Allison.”

Stiles pushes off the tree and starts jogging with them again, trying to trip Isaac and somehow stumbling on a tree root. Before Isaac realizes what happened, Malia’s has Stiles by the forearm so he doesn’t go sprawling on the forest floor. When he goes to thank her, she only has a look of mild annoyance before smiling quickly and turning back to follow the other two.

They jog for about ten more minutes, sprinting towards the end, before the trees start to open up and Stiles catches a glimpse of the huge lake in the center of the Preserve. By the time he reaches the water’s edge, everyone else has already jumped in after pulling their shoes off, clothes and all. Stiles shucks off his gross tank top and follows suit, gasping as the cold water hits his skin.

When he surfaces, Malia swims towards him with a questioning look, “Why do you smell like Derek?”

Stiles splutters out water, “Like _Derek_?”

“Yeah. It was there before but kind of subtle like a...like an undercurrent, I think. I mean, obviously you smell like Scott and your dad and a little bit of Kira and everyone else. But Derek was there, too. And the water just uh, enhanced it. You reek now.”

“I reek of _Derek._ ”

Malia shrugs, “And sadness.”

Stiles rubs a wet hand over his face, “That’s fantastic.”

“Do you wanna,” Malia sighs, like she’s out of her element, “Talk about it...or something?”

“Not really, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh good! I mean,” She furrows her brows, “Not that I didn’t want you to talk about it, just...”

Stiles places a hand on her shoulder, “Why don’t we have a race to the other end of the lake, instead?”

“I’ll beat you easily.”

“Not if I get a totally illegal head-start!” Stiles shouts out before flinging himself forward.

It only takes a few splashes before Malia passes him, although he’s not surprised. He still struggles on though, kicking his legs fervently and trying to not lose by too much. To his right, he can hear Isaac and Allison joining in, although it’s clear at this point that Malia has the lead.

Malia’s already clambering up the soft, sandy part of the bank by the time Stiles is able to catch his breath and pause enough to look around him. He treads water for a moment, just watching the other two reach the shore as well, before breast-stroking his way towards them. They’re all laughing and spread-eagle on the grass by the time he finally steps out of the water.

Allison playfully kicks water at him, “What took you so long, slowpoke?”

“I don’t know,” He shrugs, “I guess I’m just more out of shape than I thought,” He half-mutters as he flops down beside Isaac.

Isaac nudges him with his elbow, “Looks like we’re going to have to get you back in shape. Heaven forbid something happen to us and Derek has to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to safety because you got a stomach cramp.”

Stiles taps his fingers against his chest, “Yeah, I don’t think Derek would-’

“So how long are you back?” Allison leans up to make eye contact with him.

“Uh, I’m thinking about calling out tomorrow, y’know, just to spend more time with my dad. I have to go back after that, though, I’ve got a job and an apartment,” He catches their expressions and hurriedly finishes, “But I promised Scott I’d start coming back more often,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, “I miss you guys.”

Allison gives him one of her dazzling smiles, “Good! Now, who wants to come back to my place after this? Lydia should be up by now and I’m in the mood for some pancakes.”

“Oh my god yeeesssss, pancakes,” Malia groans happily before sitting up and racing back into the water.

“Ugh,” Stiles rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, “We have to swim all the way back across and _then_ jog back?”

Isaac slaps his thigh before jumping up, “You’re the one that wanted to swim over here, if I remember correctly. But hey, if you’re nice, maybe I’ll give you a piggy-back ride through the forest,” He winks before jumping into the lake.

Allison catches Stiles’s gaping expression, “Don’t worry, he knows how much that would piss Derek off. Isaac likes to play around, but he knows his boundaries. ”

Stiles huffs and stands up, “I don’t think Derek would mind so much. He made his feelings more than clear.”

“Look,” She places a hand on his shoulder, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it now, but I’m...I’m here, y’know? We used to be close, we still can be.”

“Yeah, I’ve...” He self-consciously rubs the back of his neck, “I’ve been out of it for awhile, but that’s going to change.”

She gives him another smile then nods, “Alright then, we should probably get back. I was not joking about those pancakes.”

Stiles laughs as he watches her jump into the cold lake and ruffles a hand through his hair before following her. He resolutely does _not_ dwell on the fact that he can’t remember the last time he genuinely laughed so much in a 48-hour time period.

 

***

 

When he hears the door to his loft sliding open, he knows he shouldn’t be surprised to find Erica and Boyd on the other side. As long as he’s known her, Erica has never been one to be patient enough for knocking. Especially after she’d been to his loft enough times to feel comfortable there. Boyd shrugs at him in a mild apology, like he realizes the impoliteness of their action but knows that Derek understands.

“Hey there big boy!” Erica gives him a huge smile as they walk inside, dangling a twelve-pack of Derek’s favorite wolfsbane-laced beer.

Derek rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as he walks away from his bookshelf, “I want to ask, ‘To what do I owe the honor,’ but I feel like I already know the answer to that.”

“My goodness, Derek,” Erica presses a manicured hand to her chest, “Are you insinuating that your _best friends_ can’t just stop by with your favorite beer?”

“They talked for at least two hours last night,” Boyd huffs out with a raised eyebrow.

“ _Boyd,_ ” Erica hisses out.

Derek sighs, “I actually expected you two yesterday. Surprised it took you so long,” He gestures to the dining room table, “Have a seat, I’ll order some pizza.”

“Yay!” Erica giggles out as she sets the beer down and sits, “Make sure to get extra meat on them, no veggies!”

“Yeah yeah, no veggies,” Derek chuckles a bit as he picks up his cellphone.

After ordering, he heads back to the table where three beers are already opened. Erica’s already had a few sips of hers, although Boyd’s bottle remains untouched. He lifts his own in a gesture as he sits down before taking a long swig, Boyd takes a sip along with him.

“Alright,” Derek smacks his lips together, “Get it out of your system.”

“You’re an idiot,” Erica states, matter-of-factly.

“Jumping right to the chase, then.”

“She’s not wrong,” Boyd shrugs, before taking another sip.

“C’mon Boyd! Not you, too.”

“Look, Derek,” Erica rests her chin on her palm, “We’re not here to attack you. We just want you to be happy. Best friends, remember?”

“I’m perfectly happy.”

“You’re _miserable_. You forget how long we’ve known each other, Der.”

“I am not....miserable. I’m doing what’s best, why can’t anyone see that?”

Erica sighs, “Yeah, Mark mentioned you were in full-on martyr mode.”

Derek rubs the bottle against his forehead, “So now I have Stiles AND Mark bitching to you about me.”

“Stiles was bitching a little bit, yeah,” Erica nods thoughtfully, “But more importantly, both of them called me because they care about you. Like us, Mark wants to see you happy.”

“And like us,” Boyd adds in, “Stiles wants you to get your head out of your ass.”

“Boyd, seriously. You’re supposed to be on my side,” Derek narrows his eyes at him and drains the bottle.

A fresh opened one is set before him before he can blink. Obviously this is going to be one of those nights. Maybe he needs to get shit-faced for once, it’s definitely been awhile.

“Can we talk about something else? How are you two enjoying your new place?”

“Derek...” Erica’s eyebrows furrow, like she’s worried, “You really like this kid. Why act like you don’t?”

“I’m not acting like I don’t, it’s just...” He sighs, “Have I ever told you guys when I realized I lov- how I felt about Stiles?”

“Yeah, like a mill-”

“No, Derek,” Boyd covers Erica’s hand with his own, “I don’t remember you telling us.”

Derek looks down and smiles, oblivious of the two of them, “It was right after the whole Alpha pack thing. Boyd had just recovered from...you know. You were finally out of your coma. And uh...the whole Pack was kinda celebrating everything in the Preserve.”

“I remember,” Boyd nods, “Isaac and Erica spent the whole night setting off fireworks.”

“Oh god,” Derek chuckles and runs a hand down his face, “I was cleaning that up for days,” The buzzer on the loft went off, “Oh shit, that’s the pizza.”

“No worries,” Boyd stands up and reaches for his wallet, “I’ve got it, you keep telling Erica. I’ll be right back.”

Erica sneers a grin at him before turning back to him, “So...what happened next?”

Derek cocks his head and traces a finger down his beer bottle, “Uh...it was towards the end of the evening and people were starting to...y’know, wind down. Scott obviously wanted to go sit with Allison by the bonfire her and Lydia had started, but he was busy sitting by Stiles. Who was lying on the rocks and absolutely shitfaced. Just, drunk off his ass.

“And I saw the sad look on Scott’s face and felt bad for him,” Derek continues, barely paying attention when Boyd sets down a plate of pizza in front of him, “So I tapped him on the shoulder and told him I’d watch over Stiles for him. It was meant to be just a favor for him, you know, I never expected to...”

“To have so many feelings?” Erica gently teases right before taking a bite of her pizza.

“Something like that,” Derek’s gaze is still somewhere else, ignoring Erica’s lilting tone, “At first he was just babbling on about his dad and how glad he was to have him safe and sound,” He finishes his beer and shakes his head, “But then, he slapped my knee about twenty times and started talking about the universe.”

“Oooh, what did he say?” Erica asks, eyes comically wide.

“He just got the craziest smile on his face and said,” Derek starts, not realizing that Erica is mouthing every word along with him, “‘You know, looking at the universe is probably the closest we’ll ever get to time travel’ and I went, ‘How do you mean’, and he starts explaining, ‘Well if you look at a star that’s 3 billion light years away, that means it took 3 billion years for that light to get to us.

“‘So when you’re seeing it, you’re looking back in time _three billion years_. Isn’t that cool?’ And all I could think was” Derek lets his mouth hang open in a dopey smile, “Yeah, that is really cool. This kid is actually really cool. And I just looked at him, relaxed, open, inebriated, and it felt like I was seeing him for the first time.”

Boyd nudges Erica to try and get her to stop mouthing along, but she just sticks her tongue out at him before continuing.

“Obviously I’d seen him before, looked at him before, maybe even marveled at him. But this was different. When I saw him that night, his eyes wide and staring at the night sky, I thought to myself, ‘I could love him, I could love this manic ball of limitless energy and intelligence and sarcasm and....and beauty.’” He pauses and smiles sadly at his beer bottle.

“So what did you do?” Boyd sighs, like he doesn’t know what’s coming next.

“Nothing,” Derek shakes his head, “He was so young then, and deserved so much better. I waited, you know, until he was older. Until I was better. But umm...” He sets his jaw, “I wasn’t enough.”

“Derek,” Erica lays a hand on his arm, “As your best friend, I feel like it’s my duty to remind you that Boyd and I love you for a reason. We don’t come over here all the time and hang out with you because we’re trying to fulfill our community service hours. The rest of the Pack doesn’t put up with you just because they’re trying to serve a penance for past misdeeds.”

“I know, I know, just...”

Boyd leans in, “Listen, I know you know this, but you gotta stop holding all this stuff in, because you’re never going to move past it. Bad stuff happens. You accept it, learn from it, and move on.”

“You’re a really great guy, Derek. Anyone would be lucky to win you over. And I mean that, sincerely. You still love him, Derek. I know you do, and he still....Just,” Erica scrunches her mouth, “Promise me you’ll talk to him again. Without being emotionally constipated.”

“Okay, okay,” Derek gives her a small grin, “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omigod, when did I turn this into a feels-fest? This is the penultimate chapter though, so don't worry, we're tying this up soon!
> 
> And yes, that is my total headcanon that Erica was at Beacon Memorial during the entirety of 3A because of the effects of whatever happened in her fight with Kali. Also, Boyd totally survived being forced onto Derek's claws because, as we saw in season one, it is totally possible to survive being speared by an Alpha's claws.

**Author's Note:**

> here's the obligatory [come be friends with me on tumblr](http://relax-itsjustbolognese.tumblr.com) note!


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